


rest

by leiascully



Series: I Like You Under My Skin [6]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Drinking & Talking, M/M, Requited Love, Team Dynamics, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-26
Updated: 2012-05-26
Packaged: 2017-11-06 01:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Phil's vacation would have gone better if they'd left a note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rest

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: AU  
> A/N: As usual, this is for Coffeesuperhero and her feelings.  
> Disclaimer: _The Avengers_ and all related characters are property of Marvel Studios and Joss Whedon. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

It takes a few weeks for Clint and Phil to get the weekend off, but eventually, it happens. As soon as Phil gets the nod from Fury, he's on the phone, booking a cabin on a lake somewhere and renting the shiniest red sportscar that money can buy. Phil somehow seems to have a lot of money. Clint hasn't asked whether it's due to G-man frugality (well, sortof-G-man) or family connections. He thinks maybe it's a little of both. Either way, he's reaping the benefits now. 

They drive up through a glorious sunshiney early morning, the top of the convertible down and the wind ruffling their hair. Phil stops at a gas station for high-octane gas and those little doughnuts with the powdered sugar. He gets a pack of chocolate ones too, and a cup of coffee for himself and one for Clint, and they share the doughnuts in the car and get powdered sugar absolutely everywhere because the wind blows it all over the place. As they leave the station, Phil turns off his phone and tosses it into the glove compartment. He slips on his sunglasses and kicks the car into gear. 

It's fucking bliss, is what it is. Clint leans back in the cushy leather seat and lets the sun shine down on him and the breeze rush past. Phil's got his big band jazz on, because Phil is that guy who genuinely enjoys big band jazz, and even that is perfect. Clint's so happy it's like his blood is carbonated. His whole body's just fizzing with joy. He reaches over and slides his fingers briefly under Phil's on the gear shift and Phil squeezes his hand and smiles and yeah, Clint's home. 

The drive is gorgeous, up through the mountains. Phil drives like a bat out of hell, sure, but he's also a damn good driver, so it's exhilirating to race up the grades and down the slopes. Everything's green and growing and the roads are shady with those patches of sunlight that make every curve of the little highway look like a postcard. Every mile further away from headquarters, Clint feels himself relaxing more and more. He hadn't even known he was this tense, but he guesses he's always ready for the world to end, and that could knot anybody up. 

The place, when they get there, is pretty fucking deluxe. It's a lot bigger than the cabin that Clint was picturing, that's for sure. It's two stories, with a huge wraparound deck and stairs in the back that go down to a dock. There's a couple of kayaks in a little leanto shed by the dock, and life jackets to go with them, and the beds are made and turned down, and there are heaps of fluffy towels in the bathrooms and in a cabinet by the Jacuzzi.

"Country living at its finest," Clint says.

"Only the best," Phil assures him. He gives Clint a kiss on his way to retrieve the cooler from the car. Clint comes along to grab the beer. Phil's put together a bunch of six-packs of microbrewed stuff, most of which Clint's never heard of, but he trusts Phil's taste by now. Phil wouldn't lead him wrong. 

They put the groceries away - fresh asparagus, some of those little yellow potatoes, a couple of fat steaks, a couple of filets of salmon, a loaf of nice bread, a package from Phil's favorite deli, and the rest of the trimmings that Phil seems to think are necessary to a weekend away. Clint's never cared that much about food - it's fuel, really - but Phil cares, and that's pretty damn adorable. Phil's a good cook, too. Clint's looking forward to eating all of these things, and drinking whatever beer Phil wants to pair with it, because Phil has opinions about things like beer and wine pairings. Clint might have found that controlling in someone else, but Phil's so charmingly passionate and earnest about it that Clint enjoys going along with it.

"Now," Phil says, closing the fridge and giving Clint a significant look, "we should probably take the suitcases up to the bedroom."

"Just what I was thinking," Clint says.

They do manage to drag the suitcases through the door of the biggest bedroom - Clint thinks there are four or five in the place - before Phil is dragging Clint to the bed and they're tearing each other's clothes off. They're a lot better at this now than they were a month ago. Phil's buttons hardly ever go flying now, and they don't get in each other's way as they stumble toward the bed. Nobody has their shoes on by the time they get there, either - that was a strange experience that neither of them really wants to repeat. 

The air is cool and the windows are open. Leaves rustle outside, so different from the city noises or the air conditioned hush of headquarters. The breeze whispers through the screen over their hot skin and Phil's mouth still has enough sugar on it to taste sweet at the corners and Clint is happy. They move together in an easy coordination, hands and mouths and minds and hearts in sync, and afterwards, Clint rests his head on Phil's shoulder and presses a kiss to Phil's damp skin.

"You have the best ideas, boss," he says. "And the best ass."

"You're not so bad in the ass department yourself," Phil says. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D. should have an ass department," Clint says dreamily. "Rogers would probably be the head of it. The head ass."

"I think that would be Stark," Phil murmurs. "There's no bigger ass than Stark." 

"True," Clint agrees. "Rogers is too nice to be head ass. Quality, though. Little-you knew how it ought to be. Who wouldn't idolize an ass like that?"

"It wasn't like that," Phil protests. He pushes gently at Clint. "He's a great guy and a great role model. Suggest otherwise and you're going to be exiting this bed quite a bit faster than you expect."

Clint slings his arm around Phil and holds on tight. "Just giving you shit, Phil. Jesus, baby, we're here to unwind. You're right, he's a great guy. He just also happens to be totally fucking built, so I wouldn't blame you if it had been like that."

Phil relaxes.

"You're cute when you're righteous," Clint tells him.

"Logically, I must be cute all the time," Phil grumbles.

"Damn right," Clint tells him with a kiss.

They lie around in bed for a while, just because they can, and then get up and wash up. Phil brought the body wash that Clint loves, the one that smells good, and he walks around in a towel for a while while Phil puts together sandwiches for lunch. There's a big tv, so they watch the world speed pool championships for a while, which is oddly mesmerizing, and then they go down to the lake. 

It almost makes Clint laugh to see Phil in a bathing suit and an old t-shirt and flipflops, because Phil still walks like he's armored in his Dolce & Gabbana and packing heat. But it's cute too. Clint strips his t-shirt off before he puts on his lifejacket, just to see the glint in Phil's eyes as he takes in the sight of Clint. They take the kayaks out on the lake and Clint does his best to splash Phil with his paddle. Phil splashes him back and almost knocks Clint over. They glide across the lake, which isn't that big, but big enough that it's a nice amount of exercise. They pause in the middle and just sit there for a while, rocking gently in the little waves. The sun is warm on the water and Clint turns his face up to it. 

"You look happy," Phil tells him.

"Of course I do," Clint says, still soaking up rays. "I'm with you."

Phil manuevers his kayak close enough to grab Clint's hand. He hauls on Clint until their boats knock together and they both lean in for a kiss. They nearly go in the water, but Clint thinks it's worth it to feel Phil smiling against his mouth.

"Race you back to the house," he challenges. "Loser gets to suck my dick."

He's pretty sure Phil loses on purpose. He's already hauled his kayak up on the dock and he's kicking his toes in the water when Phil gets there. Phil swings himself up the ladder, half-tackles Clint, and has Clint's trunks down by the time Clint is flat on the dock. Clint grins and stretches out on the sun-warmed wood, listening to the water lap against the supports of the dock and listening to Phil's contented little grunts as he settles himself over Clint. He shivers as Phil trails a string of kisses over Clint's hipbone and then lips at Clint's cock.

"Splinters," Clint says, not even really caring. He fucking loves how much Phil loves his cock, but he also loves giving Phil trouble. When it comes down to it, it would probably be better if he didn't have to spend the rest of the weekend on his stomach while Phil picks at his back with tweezers, but mostly he's giving Phil trouble, because Phil already has that focused, hungry, blissful look on his face and the look of annoyance Clint knows he'll get will be priceless.

"Since when do you care about hazards on a mission?" Phil growls.

"Sucking my cock is a mission now?" Clint asks, raising his head and his eyebrows. "Even better."

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Phil mutters, with exactly the face Clint was waiting for. "Guess I'd better figure out a way to keep your mouth shut." He yanks Clint's trunks carefully back up and clambers up. He drags his kayak out of the water as Clint gets himself up. 

"Race you back to the house," Clint suggests, and they both pelt toward the house, flipflops flapping. He just barely wins this time. Phil's pretty damn fast for a G-man. Phil shoves him up the stairs and into the nearest bedroom, and Clint grins as he fists his hands in the covers. Phil yanks Clint's trunks all the way off this time and throws them over his shoulder as he braces himself between Clint's thighs and wraps his fist around Clint's cock.

"No smart ass comments this time," Phil tells Clint, and immediately takes Clint's cock into his mouth. Clint's back arches and he grunts, incapable of forming words anyway. Phil's mouth feels fucking amazing. Phil makes little muffled murmurs of desire and pleasure and each one sends a thrill up Clint's spine from his balls to his brain and back again. Clint groans, trying to keep from thrusting into Phil's mouth. He wants it to last. He wants it to last forever. He wants to lie in this bed for the rest of time with Phil's hand wrapped firmly around him and Phil's mouth making him melt with pleasure. He's turning to liquid under the spell of Phil's tongue, and when Phil very gently applies just the edges of his teeth, Clint yelps at the sensation.

Phil raises his head momentarily, leaving Clint aching for the hot pressure of his tongue. "That's for the dock," Phil tells him, and then swallows Clint down again, taking him deep. Clint is equal parts incredibly jealous of and incredibly grateful to whoever Phil was practicing on before they started this. He slides his foot down until he can reach Phil's thigh. Phil grunts but lets Clint ease his toes under Phil's thigh until he can rub against the bulge in Phil's trunks. Phil hums and angles himself to give Clint more access. His tongue swirls fiercely over the head of Clint's cock and it's all Clint can do to keep himself still. He sure as fuck doesn't want to kick Phil by accident. 

Phil braces his forearms harder on Clint's thighs, pinning him to the bed. They really are going to have to invest in some straps one of these days, Clint thinks dizzily. He can't think of anything more appealing than being bound by Phil, bound to Phil, completely at Phil's tender mercies. Even this is so fucking good, he can't take much more of it. Every move Phil makes sends him that much closer to the edge. His foot under Phil's hip and his grip on the covers are all that are keeping him from spinning off the bed, freed from gravity.

"I'm gonna..." he warns. 

"Mmm," Phil says, and he sounds so fucking turned on that Clint can't hold out any longer. He comes into Phil's mouth, his hips jerking.

"Oh, fuck me," he says, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. 

"Ah," Phil says in satisfaction. He pushes up and slides up the bed until he's resting on Clint. Clint leans over and kisses him.

"What can I do for you?" Clint asks.

For answer, Phil pulls Clint on top of him and guides Clint's hand down his trunks. Clint takes the hint and lets his fingers curl around Phil's cock. With his other hand, he tugs on Phil's t-shirt until it's rucked up under Phil's arms and they can be skin-to-skin. He kisses Phil deeply, hungrily, and Phil rocks his hips, thrusting into Clint's hand and against Clint's hip. 

"More," Phil demands, gasping for a breath, and Clint lets more of his weight rest on Phil, pushing Phil deeper into the bed. Phil groans in satisfaction and thrusts harder. The harder Clint leans on him, the harder Phil pushes back, their bodies in a desperate equilibrium, until Phil shouts into Clint's mouth and comes. Clint releases him, pulling his hand slowly out from between their bodies and wiping it on Phil's trunks. 

"I lost the race," Phil mumbles, "so why do I feel like I won?"

Clint laughs and rests his forehead against Phil's. "Pretty sure we both won that one, boss."

They're both a little sunburned, so they spend some time slathering each other with aloe and drinking iced tea from a gallon jug Phil brought. Then Phil cracks open a couple of beers and they cook dinner because they're both starving. Phil looks pretty damn good in jeans and a rumpled, half-buttoned shirt and bare feet, and Clint makes sure to complicate matters by squeezing Phil's ass every time he goes by. They have fish and some kind of pilaf and more beer, and they eat out on the deck, and it's pretty much the most peaceful Clint has ever felt. 

After dinner, they try out the Jacuzzi. Phil limits them to one beer apiece, because he's Phil, and he's big into precautions. It's a perfect night for it, just cool enough that the hot water feels good, and Clint's nice and loose. He half-floats over to Phil for a kiss, but the jets are too powerful and their skin is too slippery for them to do much else. Clint tries a couple of times to grind against Phil, but he keeps gently floating away. They laugh about it and settle for playing footsie in the center of the tub and looking up at the stars.

"We should come here again," Phil says. "Maybe in the fall. The colors should be good."

"As long as you're around, there'll always be something I want to look at," Clint says, and maybe he's a little tipsy, but Phil ought to know how he feels. "Even better than colorful trees."

Phil shakes his head and gives Clint a fond look. "Clinton, you old romantic."

"Look, boss, I love you, that's all," Clint says, tipping the last of his beer into his mouth.

Phil looks at him.

"Oh," Clint says. "Right. No, I meant to say that."

"It's all right," Phil says, and suddenly he's fucking beaming, like there's actually light coming out of his eyes. "It's mutual."

They go upstairs after that and get into bed, and the sheets are cool and Phil's skin is warm. They touch each other like they've got all the time in the world for this, their kisses slow and sweet. Clint's had a lot of sex in his life, but he's never experienced this before: he can't think of it as anything other than lovemaking, even as he mocks himself for the thought. But it's perfect, an incredible end to an incredible day, and tomorrow, he thinks, he gets to wake up and do it all over again.

They sleep in and then go for a swim in the morning, after Phil's had some coffee but before they make breakfast. It's chilly in the water and Clint has goosebumps all over when they get out, but Phil warms him up, toweling off, and then they make waffles. It's more like brunch than breakfast, but they're on vacation. Clint pours a lot of maple syrup on his and uses entirely too much butter, but Phil doesn't seem to mind. Usually he gives Clint a little lecture, or at least a stern look, but Clint supposes there are extra benefits to fucking Phil Coulson, and one of them is that Phil is too blissed out to care about cholesterol.

Phil takes a shower after that, so Clint watches part of _The African Queen_ on tv, even though he's seen it a bunch of times before. After a few minutes, he gets bored and goes up to join Phil. Phil's already out and shaving.

"Sorry," he says, catching Clint's eye in the mirror. "I would have waited if I'd known you were coming. Lake water doesn't do anybody's skin any favors, though."

"It's okay with me when you smell like mud and plants," Clint tells him. He waits for an opportune moment and kisses the back of Phil's neck. "Though this is definitely better."

"Get clean," Phil says, jerking his head toward the shower. "Mud doesn't smell so bad, but it doesn't taste that good."

"Not sure what you're saying there, boss," Clint deadpans, but he gets into the shower and lathers up. Phil's gone when he gets out, so he wraps a towel around his hips and goes to find him. It's not difficult: Phil's lounging on the couch downstairs in his robe and watching the movie.

"This is a quality film," Phil says.

"Only you," Clint says. 

"What?" Phil asks.

"Only you would describe it that way," Clint says, flopping down on the couch beside Phil. 

"It's a classic," Phil says, but his fingers are already wandering up Clint's thigh. Clint grins.

"Sure it is," Clint says, keeping his voice as casual as possible. "Bogey. Hepburn. Leeches. What more could you want in a movie?"

"Can't think of anything," Phil says, stroking Clint's cock with the tips of his fingers. "Not a single thing. This movie, at this moment, contains every single thing that I want."

"You get chatty when you're horny," Clint teases him.

"Then I guess around you, I'm chatty a lot," Phil says. 

Clint leans over and kisses him, undoing the sash of Phil's robe. He slides his hands down Phil's ribs, avoiding the ticklish spots he's discovered in the last few weeks. There are times he doesn't avoid those spots, but this isn't one of them. He can fuck with Phil later. He's got better things to do right now.

Clint gently pushes Phil over into the cushions and stretches out on top of him. He cups Phil's head in his hand. They spend a second just looking at each other. 

"Yeah," Clint says finally. "I like this."

"Good," Phil says. "Now shut up and kiss me."

Clint is more than happy to follow that order. He kisses Phil softly, enjoying the smoothness of Phil's freshly-shaved face, though he likes it when Phil's all stubbly at the end of the day too. He focuses on how good it feels to kiss Phil, how happy it makes him. It's a long, slow, glorious burn, kissing Phil. He wonders how long he can kiss Phil without getting distracted by other concerns. Other concerns are definitely making themselves known, but he's a grown-ass man: he can control his urges. He shifts a little, getting comfortable, and applies himself to kissing Phil. Phil kisses him back contentedly, seeming pleased enough to stick to this for now.

Clint nips at Phil's mouth, sucking at Phil's lower lip. Phil makes a happy little hum and kisses Clint back a little deeper. Clint's all wrapped up in the wonder of Phil's mouth when he hears the noise. He raises his head.

"What the hell," he starts.

"Oh, fuck," Phil mutters.

The noise gets louder and louder. There's no mistaking the particular signature of Tony's jet - it's pulled all of their bacon out of the fire more than once, and carried them across the globe. Clint would recognize the sound of those engines anywhere. He just didn't expect to hear them here.

"Maybe if we ignore them, they'll go away," Clint murmurs, leaning down for another kiss. 

"No such luck," Phil says grimly.

They at least have time to retie Phil's robe and rewrap Clint's towel before Natasha comes bursting through the door with Rogers right behind her. She stares at the two of them and then throws something. Clint puts his hands up by reflex and catches it. It's his phone. He didn't even realize he'd left it in New York.

"I thought you were in trouble," she hisses. 

Clint shrugs. "Clearly we're not," he says. The phone buzzes in his hands and he checks it. Twenty-seven text messages, most of them from Nat, and ten missed calls. Oops.

"You could have told me where you were going," she says. "I was worried."

"We're not required to file travel plans with you," Phil points out.

Natasha tosses her hair and crosses her arms. "Required, no. Requested, yes."

"She worries so easily," Clint says sarcastically. "Could have done with some of this in Budapest."

"Budapest was fine," Natasha says. "You were overreacting."

"And now the shoe is on the other foot," Clint says. 

"I'm so lost," Rogers says. He sits down on the couch.

Tony strolls in. "Hey, folks. Guess you didn't need much rescuing after all."

Banner peers over his shoulder. "They need clothes more than they need rescuing. Did we get called out for a fashion disaster?"

"We were alone until very recently," Phil points out.

Thor strides into the cabin. "Son of Coul! And the Hawk. How goes it, my friends?"

"Exactly what we needed," Phil says, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "Avengers assembling in the living room. And everything was going so well."

"It's great, Thor," Clint says reassuringly. "I mean, it was great, until all of you showed up."

"Heard you weren't answering your phone," Tony says, wandering around the living room picking things up and setting them down. "Usually that means trouble. This is a nice place."

"Thank you," Phil says automatically. 

"Just as well," Banner says with that mopey expression. "The Other Guy gives me a headache."

"You just need a drink," Tony says. "We all need a drink, I'm sure."

"You're not staying," Phil says, polite but firm.

"Sure we are," Tony contradicts him. "I already gave the pilot the rest of the afternoon off. He's probably lost in the woods by now."

Natasha's just been staring at Clint and tapping her foot. "What?" he demands.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks.

"I didn't think about it," Clint tells her. "I don't always think about you when I'm with Phil. I'm sure that's a complete surprise."

"No need to be a jerk about it," Natasha says coldly. "I just thought that you might understand that we have enemies, and that you might want to stay in contact." 

"I'm sorry," Clint says. He holds out his hands palm up, nearly losing his towel. "You're right. After what we've been through, I should have told you where I was going. But you know I hate that thing."

"Just put some games on it," Natasha says, smiling at last. "Get some ringtones. I'm sure Phil knows some good apps." Clint holds out his arm and Natasha tucks herself under it. "Probably good for you to get away, anyway."

"If we could," Clint teases her. 

"Just leave a damn note," Natasha says.

Thor has parked himself on the couch next to Rogers and is watching the movie with fascination. "We have similar creatures that consume our lifeforce. We call them" - he says something unpronounceable that Clint's not even sure his ears can process correctly. "I slay them with my hammer."

"Not recommended for leeches," Rogers says.

Tony's in the kitchen now, peering into the fridge and the cabinets. "Oh, nice. Steak for dinner. Sounds good. I think I'll join you."

"Sorry," Phil says. Clint's pretty impressed by how cool and collected Phil is about all of this, considering he's wearing a bathrobe. "I only brought two."

"No problem," Tony says easily. "I'm sure I've got a few in the plane. We'll have a cookout."

"Is that Caldera?" Banner says, going through the beer. "Nice, Coulson."

"Why are they on this boat?" Thor demands. "Where are the mortals going? Why do they gaze at each other but not kiss?"

"They say true love waits," Tony quips.

Thor's brow furrows. "This is not a saying we have in Asgard."

"I'm sure it's not," Banner mutters.

"True love waited long enough," Clint says. "True love wants some time alone."

"It's too late for that, Hawkeye," Tony tells him. "Now it's a party."

"You know he's not gonna leave," Natasha says. "You might as well go put some clothes on."

Clint sighs. He looks at Phil. 

"We'll be back in a few minutes," Phil says. 

They take a lot longer than a few minutes, but they both feel that's their due, after having the entire Avengers team land on top of them. It turns out that Phil owns not only jeans, but shorts, which pretty much blows Clint's mind. 

"Something new every day with you," he tells Phil. 

Phil smiles. "I contain multitudes. Now let's go down and entertain our guests."

Tony has the grill fired up by the time they get downstairs. Phil sighs. Clint leans against him briefly for comfort. Tony catches sight of them and waves the spatula, doing a little dance. He's got the stereo on and everyone is lounging around on the porch watching him work. Clint opens the door to the deck and Phil follows him.

"It's not even close to time for dinner," Clint says.

"Have to let the coals settle," Tony tells him, looking over his sunglasses. "Trust the master."

"Tony assures me that he is an expert in charring meat to perfection," Thor says seriously. "I look forward to our feast, Son of Coul."

"Me too," Phil says in his driest voice. "Do you have an opinion on how to fix the potatoes?"

"Oh, I trust you on that," Tony says. 

"Thanks," Phil says.

"I can help," Steve volunteers. 

Phil gives Clint a look that says something along the lines of "Oh God, I'm about to be peeling potatoes with _Captain America_ ", but Clint just lets him go. Phil has to get over the hero worship sometime, and besides, Rogers is probably pretty good at peeling potatoes. He seems like the type.

It's all out of their hands after that. Tony directs the proceedings like a ringmaster in a very small circus - Clint should know. At least Tony's competent, and nobody has to get on a trapeze. He sends Thor to forest for wood chips and enlists Natasha to mix the marinade. Banner prepares the asparagus and Tony, of course, handles the steaks himself. 

Damn if Tony Stark can't grill a steak.

After the food has been reduced to crumbs and buttery smears on plates, they all sit around on the deck. They have a citronella candle burning - completely unnecessary, since Tony's engineered his own special bug shield that zaps everything that comes within ten feet, but it smells nice. Clint nudges his chair closer to Phil's and reaches for Phil's hand. Phil squeezes gently. Frank Sinatra is on the stereo now, Phil having overruled Tony, and the rich sound of the music is perfect.

"It's really beautiful out here," Rogers says, letting his beer bottle dangle from his fingers. Natasha smiles at him and he smiles back at her. "Quiet."

"Remind you of your farm boy roots?" Tony asks. "Grain-fed, wholesome, all that jazz."

"I'm from Brooklyn," Steve reminds him. Tony waves one hand dismissively.

"There's a hot tub," Natasha says.

"Is there?" Tony asks with sudden interest.

"Definitely not," Phil says, his tone final. 

"Highly unsanitary," Banner murmurs. 

"Fine," Tony says. "St. Tropez. Warmer anyway. Who's with me? We'll pick up Pepper on the way - can't believe she thought work would be better than this."

"What is 'San Tro Pay'?" Thor asks.

"Paradise, big man," Tony says, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'll love it. Bikinis as far as the eye can see."

"Does one hunt these bikinis?" Thor asks, a gleam in his eye.

"In a manner of speaking," Tony says with a smirk. Natasha slaps the back of his head. "Ow! I mean historically, Romanov. Don't get homocidal on me."

"Don't be an ass and I won't have to," Natasha tells him with danger in her voice, but amusement too.

"I'm equal opportunity!" Tony protests. "Bikinis, speedos, whatever."

"How does Pepper feel about that?" Banner jokes.

"She loves it," Tony says easily. "Can't get enough. There's always the nude beach if you're gonna be that way about it."

"Ah," says Rogers, and even in the faint light of dusk they can all see he's blushing.

"Be nice," Natasha warns. "We'll stick to the clothed ones," she tells Rogers. 

"I imagine your bikini doesn't do much to cover the subject," Clint says, really enjoying all of this and most of all enjoying holding Phil's hand. 

"No use in wearing a bathing suit you can't garrotte someone with in a pinch," Nat says smoothly, and Rogers blushes even more. 

"Someone explain this bikini to me," Thor rumbles.

"It's a swimsuit," Banner says. "Usually worn by women. They're generally...small. Kind of like a bra and underwear that you swim in."

"I like it," Thor decides. "Natasha, if you possess such an item, I would be greatly obliged if you would don it for my consideration." 

"Nice try," Natasha says, stretching. "Newsflash, Thunder God: nothing I wear is for your consideration unless we have some kind of prior understanding."

"And you have this understanding with Steven?" Thor asks.

"I'm trying to," Natasha says in an exasperated voice. "This isn't really helping."

Rogers is blushing so much now that Clint's amazed that his face isn't actually glowing. "It's all right," he says. "There's a lot I don't understand about women." 

"Maybe I can teach you a little," Natasha says.

Banner clears his throat. "Maybe not right here, though."

"Prude," Tony says. "All right, team, back in the plane. We've done enough damage. Let's leave these two lovebirds to their nest."

"Finally," Clint says. Tony blows him a kiss. 

"Next time, answer your phone," Banner says. 

"To be fair, Director Fury told us to leave this alone," Rogers says.

"Did he," Phil murmurs.

"He lies," Natasha protests. "I didn't want it to be Hong Kong all over again."

"This was clearly a dangerous undercover mission," Tony says. "Literally under the covers in this case, though."

"I really can't apologize enough for him," Rogers says, blushing all over again.

"You're right," Tony tells him. "That's why I hire people."

"Come on," Banner says. "Leave some wit for the rest of us."

"Fine, fine," Tony says. "Let's hit the beach, gang. Plus, I think I've got some eclairs in the galley if anyone's feeling the need for something sweet."

Clint and Phil watch the others board the jet. After it's gone, just a spark in the sky, Phil lets out a long breath and leans against Clint. Clint puts his arm around Phil.

"It was nice," Phil says. "On the other hand, I really wanted to be alone with you."

"We're alone now," Clint offers. "We can always get away another time." He taps his finger on the phone in his pocket. "Next time, I'll leave a note."

"Make sure you do," Phil says, pulling Clint closer.


End file.
